Cogs: 99th Hunger Games
by Evening Verdigris
Summary: One year away from the fourth Quarter Quell, rebellion is stirring again in the outer districts.  Dissatisfaction is widespread, but this time, the rebellion may need more than a charismatic leader.
1. Chapter 1

My first fanfic. Let's see how this goes. :)

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><p><strong>Chapter 1<strong>

Sion Glass POV

I blink my eyes a few times, squinting at the bits of circuitry in my hands. It's nearly morning, now. I've been up all night building things, orders from the others in District 3.

My mom calls, "Sion, breakfast!" I know she's been up for at least an hour. It's the reaping today, and we're all required to be there no matter what. At least it's my second-to-last year, and I haven't had to take out any tesserae. My earnings have been enough to provide for us.

I reply. "Be down in a second!" I carefully twist two wires together before flipping a power switch, and smile as the motor whirs to life. That's one part done, anyway. It'll take ages to finish, but hopefully it'll sell for a lot. The mayor's daughter loves my mechanical toys, and she's spoiled rotten. Her father will never deny her anything she wants, no matter the price.

I flip a small blanket over the clockwork bird, turning it back off, and walk down the stairs. The smell of bread floods my mouth with water. I haven't eaten for at least twelve hours. Ravenously, I dig in, stuffing pieces in my mouth. It's very good.

My mom and I are ready to go before long. I'm dressed in an old, faded suit, and she's in a blue dress. My younger brother Chio is in a similar suit to mine- he's turning fourteen this year, so he's pretty scared. We all have to dress up for the reapings, though I think it makes the worry even worse. I shuffle my feet impatiently- I can't wait for this ordeal to be over so that I can finally get back to my work.

We walk out the door together, joining the river of humanity flowing towards the reaping square. A few twelve-year-olds from my apartment building, looking terrified, hide behind their parents. It's unlikely they'll be picked, though. Despite our poverty, none of us are quite poor enough to need tesserae.

We finally make it to the square. I walk over to the section marked out for seventeen-year-olds, and greet a few of my friends. We're laughing and joking, making fun of the scared children in the twelve- and thirteen-year-old sections, but we're all terrified too. Sweaty handshakes and nervous looks betray our true feelings.

Silence slams down on the square as soon as the Capitol people take to the stage. You could hear a pin drop. As they read the long Treaty and time drags on, I feel sweat begin to trickle down my back. It's so unlikely that I'll be called- I computed the probability a few days ago- but there's no denying the raw fear pulsing around the square.

The ridiculous spokesperson bounces up to the microphone. After a few empty phrases in the trademark Capitol accent, he begins the drawing. "Well, ladies first!" He plunges a hand into the ball filled with slips of paper, and pulls out one. The tension becomes palpable as he unfolds it, and reads a name.

"Tele Markov!"

A girl, looking confused and distracted, has to be pushed towards the stage before she realizes she's been called. I've seen her in school- she's only a year younger than me. She's supposed to be good at hacking, but I can't see how that would help her in the arena. In any case, I suppose it's none of my business.

As expected, there are no volunteers, and we move on to the boys. I feel my insides constrict, and nausea and sick apprehension roil in my stomach. "And now for the boys!" shouts the spokesperson, squinting at the paper.

"Sion Glass!"

I'm frozen for a second. That's my name. I look around, almost stupidly, before I feel my self-control slam down. I have to act calm and detached. They'll be watching even now. I walk up to the stage, emptying my face and mind of emotion. Statistically, victors are 30% as likely to win if the Capitol approves of the way they act at the reaping. I remind myself of these facts as I climb the stage, shaking hands. No tears. Tears are a sign of weakness.

There's no way anyone would ever volunteer, so of course no one does.

I keep telling myself this as I go through the heartfelt goodbyes. My mother comes in after my friends, and we just sit there for a minute. I know she's terrified, but she'll never let it show. All of us in the Glass family have always had good self-control, unlike our name might suggest. We're not transparent in the least.

Naturally, she doesn't bring Chio. He's never been able to suppress his emotions, and I don't know if I could keep this emotionless mask on if he were here, crying and hugging me. I don't know how to express my thanks, so I don't. She'll understand. Somehow, she always does.

After a few minutes, she pulls me into a brief, tight hug. She walks away, and I follow the Peacekeepers in the other direction. Neither of us looks back. We've said our goodbyes, and now I'll either survive or die.

As I walk, I can't help wishing that my father were here to say goodbye to me. He always knew what to say and what to do, and he could make everything seem better. But that was before the Peacekeepers took him away. Remembering that day now, I look from side to side at my guides and shiver a little. I can't bring myself to trust them and probably never will.

I'm bundled onto the train with the girl, Tele Markov. She still seems to be in shock- most likely, she won't last long in the Games. Though she's doing her best to be brave, anyone could see the tear stains on her face.

I look out the window of the train, filtering out the words of the spokesperson. That isn't nearly as important as planning. I have to anticipate the Arena, or I'm dead.

For some reason, the image of the broken clockwork bird filters to the top of my mind. Maybe it won't ever be finished now, and it'll eventually rust away to a pile of cogs and springs, leaving nothing.

Seneca Ward POV

We're watching the replay of the reapings now. My district is first, naturally. I hide my disgust at the antics of the girl who was reaped. I guess it was her bad luck to be reaped on a year when nobody who'd trained was interested in volunteering. Although I suppose she is attractive enough- blond hair and blue eyes are common in District 1.

I suppress a smile as I see myself walking up to the stage now. My father looks proud, sitting with the rest of the parents. I think he wants me to follow after the steps of my brother.

Virgil didn't have any trouble winning his Games, but then again, he's almost eight feet tall and can lift a table with one hand, I think a little bitterly. I'm not sure if I measure up. In fact, I'm almost certain that I don't.

I drag my mind away from those thoughts as Iridescence, the girl, giggles. This is a little surprising, as she was crying earlier. "I bet these Games will be a breeze, right, Seneca?" She grabs my arm and I bite back an irritable reply.

After a few seconds of composing myself, I present my best smile and nod. I can't really tell, but I think the mentors look just as disapproving as I feel.

Thankfully, it's almost time to go to sleep now. The train has been moving for a few hours, and we've just finished dinner.

The tributes from District 2 seem just as bloodthirsty as usual. The boy looks just like Virgil, and I push away a flash of apprehension. I've been training with a sword for thirteen years. He can't be better than me. The girl just seems to be a spoiled brat, but I have to admit that she has spirit.

District 3 are usually pretty ditzy, and I think this year will be the same as I see a shell-shocked girl walking towards the stage. She's pretty chubby, and she probably won't make it far.

I am forced to revise my opinion, though, by the boy. Although Iridescence brushes him off too, something about his eyes bothers me. He seems too collected, and he actually seems to be thinking, instead of freezing like a deer in the headlights. He could be a threat if I'm not careful. I file this away for future consideration.

District 4 is decent, as usual. Both are pretty quiet, but the girl seems to be much less of a threat than the guy- she looks like she could break if a stone hit her.

District 5 is the opposite. The guy isn't worth notice, but the girl looks pretty vicious. I wouldn't put it past her to gut me in my sleep.

District 6 didn't seem worth attention, but 7 had two decent tributes. The guy, at least, would probably survive a few days. Maybe a possible ally? There seemed to be many possibly threatening tributes this year.

I don't notice anything special about Districts 8, 9, 10, 11, or 12, so I decide that there's not much point in staying. I get up, hopefully unobtrusively, and make my way towards the door after the reapings have finished. Rest and relaxation will get me farther than any training, at least until we arrive at the Capitol.

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><p>Thanks for reading! Please rate and review if you have the time. :)<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

Second chapter was a little harder, but I had fun writing it.

Wow, Oleander is crazy. o.o

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><p><strong>Chapter 2<strong>

Oleander Garrison POV

We are already awake by the time the Capitol person comes to wake us up. We shout at her to go away, and roll over in bed, sitting up and looking around warily. It's a little odd waking up here instead of in our house. Though our house doesn't really feel like a 'home' either, we suppose. We don't like the way the servants treat us. And our parents, especially our father, are unbearable.

The chariot rides were irritating. It was a waste of time in our opinion. And we hate waste. All that electrical power spinning off of our chariot was a horrible waste! We smash a vase beside the bed to vent our anger.

We got ready in the span of a few minutes. We're apparently training today. A nice continuation of routine, then. We've been training for these Games all of our life. Our father saw to that.

We walk down to breakfast and scowl at our district partner. Poor Pierre LaFortier. He's dead already, just doesn't know it. There's no way he'll win. In fact, we intend to make him the first one we kill.

Our hands flex on the breakfast knife, and we stab into a pancake, cutting it apart with quick, efficient slices. The strawberry on top begins to bleed red juices onto the cream. How appropriate. We smile, meeting Pierre's eyes, and grin as he flinches.

When we get to the training room, we survey the tributes. Only a few look like threats. The Careers, as usual. A few others look decent. Most, like Pierre, are just waiting to be cut apart.

The kids from Three and the girl from Nine look all right, though. Maybe they'll put up a fight when we come to kill them. We smile at the thought.

We walk to the knife table, picking over the available weapons. A trainer comes up to assist us, and we smile. We're feeling generous today, so we won't kill him. We lick our lips, smelling a faint scent of blood. One of the Ten tributes has cut themselves on a knife. Delectable.

Our gaze hardens as we look at the trainer. Without missing a beat, we dash forwards, muscles and legs working in harmony. What a beautiful art, killing! Our knives sweep up to meet the trainer's hurried parry, and we smile through bared teeth. He definitely wasn't expecting that.

We are aware of the assessing, even admiring, looks that we are receiving. Well, let them assess. We will only fight for ourselves. Alliances are for the weak, and those who have no way to protect themselves.

Feeling a red mist fall over our vision, we jump forwards again. The trainer is visibly struggling now, his confident expression gone.

We push and push and push, trapping him against the wall. Our feet glide over the floor. How like a dance.

We smile again, knowing that we look crazy. How fitting. Our teeth are bared wider, now. We laugh harshly and rush forwards for the kill.

Amaranth Meadows POV

I smooth down my dress, feeling the soft, almost ethereal, fabric under my fingers. Black, but I don't know what it's made of. Probably silk- I've heard about it. A necklace of silver is cold against my neck, but the getup seems to have the desired effect. The crowd murmurs as they see me, and I feel myself flush a little. Though they won't be able to see it under all of this white face paint.

At home, I was always the shy girl who enjoyed working in the fields for some reason. I was practically born with a harvesting scythe in my hands, to hear my parents tell it, and maybe it'll do me some good now. A scythe isn't half-bad as a weapon. And it's perfect for a Grim Reaper.

I tug at the hood around my face, feeling the thin wisps of what I've decided is silk brush my face. My other hand holds a bone-white scythe- fake, of course- tightly. I can almost feel my knuckles whitening. They must think I look incredibly silly. Stupid Capitol people!

Caesar Flickerman is beginning the interviews now. I'm a little distracted, my mind drawn away by the flashing lights, bright costumes, and avid crowd. Why do they want to watch us die so much? It's terrible.

Predictably, the Careers go for every personality from genuine to sexy to brutal. Their scores are also high- most are above seven.

The District 3 tributes both go for 'scattered genius'- or maybe that's just what they are. The girl still looks shocked; the boy just looks determined. If one of them is going to survive, it'll be him. With a score of ten, though- wonder how he got it- he's just made himself a prime target.

Most of the others are normal. The District 5 girl is terrifying. I think her name is Oleander- it fits her. That particular poisonous flower has given us trouble for ages, trying to separate it from the crop. And she got a nine in training. She's deadly with knives- if I run into her, it's over.

The districts roll by, appearing to have little importance. And then it's my turn.

My score flashes on the screen. Silo, my district partner, got a five, but somehow I manage an eight. I guess they were impressed with my scythe skills. This costume might turn out well.

I walk up to the stage, trying to relax. The lights flash brightly, and I squint a little as Caesar begins the interview. "So, Amaranth, how have you liked the Capitol so far?"

I respond, a little nervously, "Well, the food's great." He laughs, clapping me on the back.

"I'm afraid I eat too much of it as well. Do you think it shows?" He puts on a look of mock horror, and I have to smile.

"Not a bit," I reassure him.

He asks about my costume next. "Where did the idea come from? I have to say, your dress is magnificent!"

I shrug. "Well, my stylist is a genius." I look at him and wave. "And I've been reaping grain for my whole life. Maybe it's time to try something new." I look him in the eye. "Like souls, maybe?" I wink.

The rest of the interview goes smoothly. I'm smiling when I get back to my seat- maybe this won't be too bad, after all.

But my mind keeps going back to the Arena. What will it be like? Will I even have a chance? I can't keep the thoughts from whirling through my head. I've got to win. I have to.

I cling onto that thought as the bright lights whirl around me, like a spinning coin. Heads or tails? Like a betting game, but the stakes are my life. Turning, turning, turning.

And stopping.

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><p>Please rate and review! :) Hope you enjoyed the story so far!<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Seneca Ward POV

I blinked by eyes several times, feeling my heart pound in my chest. Just a few minutes now until we enter the Arena. Just a few minutes. I grab a bottle of water and drink most of it, sputtering slightly. No matter what my family says, I'm not prepared for this. What can I do?

My stylist comes up to me, an encouraging look on her face. "Time to roll!" She actually winks as she presses my district token, a silver ring, into my hands. I slip it on with a forced smile. I know it looks sickly because she makes a clucking noise before shooing me towards the lifts. I swallow, then step in.

This year, we're dressed in skin-tight black suits. No telling what the Arena will be like. But it's unlikely it'll be too cold. That was always an unpopular choice because of the number of quiet deaths.

I shiver as I zoom up to the surface. Will it be dark? Bright? Hot? Cold? Will I need-

I cut that train of thought off mid-stride. No point. I need to focus on getting a sword. I can use swords. And don't get killed.

My pulse thrums in my ears as I slide up into the Arena. And all of a sudden, my eyes widen, because I've never seen an Arena like this.

We're in the middle of a _metropolis_. Skyscrapers stretch out to every side. The sky is overcast and grey- not a bit of sun peeks through. No trees, no animals to hunt. I'm willing to bet that the only food in this entire arena is in the Cornucopia.

This year, it's also grey and metallic. Weirdly, it seems to shimmer as I look at it. Is it a trap? No way to tell.

I look down at the ground around me. Not many supplies. I see a sword, though, only about five meters from me. That's the first thing I want.

I look up again. The other tributes have mingled expressions of horror, doubt, and confusion. A few others look focused too.

I count down. _Thirty… twenty… ten…_

_Nine._

_Eight._

_Seven._

_Six._

_Five._

_Four._

_Three._

_Two._

Sion Glass POV

_One._

I'm already leaping from my plate at the last second. If the mines deactivate at the gong, I have about a half a second in the air before I set them off. That's enough time to get ahead.

I sprint forwards, grabbing the nearest things. I scoop up a satchel and run ten more meters to snag a belt with five knives. The Cornucopia shimmers like a mirage, and I instinctively back away, then begin to run. I have all that I can carry and still run now.

When I saw the buildings, I thought this must have been some kind of insane joke. The year I get reaped, and it's the best setup I could have hoped for.

I have the knives fixed around my waist now, and I'm running at full tilt. I can hear the sounds of combat from behind me, but I don't dare to look back. I saw the Careers banding together as usual, and I distinctly saw the girls from 10 and 11 take thrown knives to the chest. I imagine they're dead by now.

_Better sooner than later,_ I feel myself think. I'm mildly appalled by this train of thought, but quickly focus back on the situation. I'm far from the Cornucopia by now, so I can probably start looking around.

The door to the skyscraper opens easily, and I look around cautiously. Hardly daring to hope, I walk to the nearest room.

Computers. Row upon row. I feel my face light up with glee. Even if there's no electricity, there's plenty of parts to scavenge.

Which reminds me. What did I get from the Cornucopia? I check the satchel, and it holds a few bags of dried fruit and an empty bottle. I scowl, my good mood broken. All of this electrical stuff will be for nothing if I can't find a source of water.

I tense as I hear a few loud crashes. Someone else is coming into the building! I crouch down, lying under the table, my heart pounding. I hold as still as I can.

I hear two sets of footsteps. Two voices follow soon after. "Jasper, this isn't going to work! We need to run farther away." A girl.

"Calm down, Seren." This one is male. "We'll be fine." He puts something down with a clatter. Probably a sword. "Let's just wait here."

Silent curses poured through my mind. Should I just announce myself? They're from Twelve, anyway. But something tells me this will be a bad decision. Instead, I begin to quietly pull the back off of the nearest computer, using a knife to loosen the screws. I can retrieve enough materials to build something to help me even with this nuiscance.

Happy 99th Hunger Games, indeed. I intend to live through this at all costs.


End file.
